On the People Who Made My Summer

As pumpkin flavored drinks reappear on coffee shop menus despite 95 degree weather and we tread the blurry line between summer and fall, I can’t help but reminisce on what an impactful summer it’s been for me.

I ate tons of cucumber salad and citrus fruit. I watched fiery sunsets with friends from various rooftops and unpacked this period of life where there’s simultaneously so much change and none at all. I traveled for weddings, dealt with the disappointment of a backpacking trip gone wrong, made up for that lost time in nature by tending to farms upstate and community gardens in Brooklyn, and found my way onto a boat which immediately made me want to drop everything and pick up sailing. I pursued my dreams in concrete ways – I don’t think I’ve created as much as I have this summer. While I allowed these experiences to flow through me and shape me in whatever ways made sense, it didn’t escape me that some were time bound, extremely special, and eventually would end in a goodbye. Maybe not for forever, but at least by the end of this particular season – summer. So I held on and still am. 

One such special experience was the chance to meet and spend time with some friends’ parents, making New York, a city so far from home feel like home. I’ve always loved getting to know the people that made my friends into the people they are today – lingering an extra hour to hear the latest gossip in their lives, savoring their food, asking for their advice as if they were my own parents. I frequently make it a point to visit friends’ parents if I’m in their city even when my friends aren’t going to be there – it’s my way of feeling close to the people I love. And this time, my friends’ parents were in my turf, arriving at a time when I needed a grounding force in my life. 

In between living out of my suitcase for work and personal travel, what little time I had in the city was spent with these friends’ parents. I remember the first time I met them, I felt like I’d known them all my life. We started talking about how I reminded them of some friend’s relative’s daughter and before I knew it I was acquainted with her without ever having met her. I stayed for dinner and was told I wasn’t eating enough (a classic parent move I’d missed more than I realized). It felt like moving mountains trying to convince them that it was in fact NOT how the food tasted (absolutely heavenly) and was just my inability to eat large portions. I took evening walks with them, asked for stories about my friend I’d otherwise never hear, and saw why she was such a natural at making people feel cherished. 

I met another set of parents through a different friend, and I remember thinking there was nowhere I would’ve rather been than sitting on her couch listening to her dad talk about politics and her mom about Kashmiri saffron as she made us a steaming cup of qehwa. We made plans to go to dinner and I cleared my schedule without a second thought. Eating with them, learning about their favorite food memories, listening to a long-winded story as if I’d be tested on it later, and accepting jokes made at my expense as badges of victory because they felt comfortable enough around me were moments I wanted to bottle up. I remember wanting to make them last forever, and this made me experience the weight of their absence prematurely, while they were still right in front of me. 

I’d call my mom after every hangout and recount all my favorite parts, especially the ones that reminded me of her. I felt closer to her through these memories, and for that I’m so grateful to my friends’ parents. When the goodbye finally came, I felt it almost as strongly as my friends probably did. The entire time they were in the same city, whether I was spending time with them or not, I felt safe in a way that’s inexplicable. I was obviously taken care of (roof over my head, food on the table, a wonderful group of friends to share my life with, the whole nine yards) before they arrived, but having them in close proximity felt like finding a missing puzzle piece. 

In a city where you’re constantly feeling untethered, dragged from one thing to the next (even when you enjoy said things), and always teetering between “nothing’s going on” and “I can’t keep up,” having my friends’ parents in town grounded me like nothing ever had. I could turn away from plans guilt-free just to have a cup of tea with them. I could spend hours on the couch gabbing about the silliest things with them without ever feeling like I was missing out on something. As much as I crave novel experiences and putting myself in new and unfamiliar situations in an attempt to learn more about myself, I don’t think I’ve learned more than in these last few months doing mundane things with my friends’ parents. I found myself to be fully present and so still for the first time. I felt more like myself than I ever have since moving to New York, the way you’d feel when you know you’re at home. In feeling this way, I’ve deepened my understanding of what kinds of experiences I value most, where I want to spend more of my time, and who I want to surround myself with. Which can only mean that every summer after this, in fact every season and measure of time, will be more in alignment and for that I cannot wait.